We Take Care of Our Own
by lovinthor
Summary: The Winter Soldier wanders into a homeless camp after the events in Washington. He gets help and kindness from an unexpected place.


_A few miles outside of DC_

They were camped under a bridge tonight. Dirty and weary men huddled around flaming trashcans and dumpsters, back from a day of working, or at least looking for work, trying to scrounge enough money for a decent meal and a place to sleep. Of course they couldn't always have enough for both, so they ended up here.

It was a chilly April evening, colder than usual, hence the fires. A group of men huddled near their trashcan, rubbing numb fingers and hands, discussing the hardships of the day, how much money they'd earned. Eventually their conversation turned to the newest member of this homeless camp.

"Hey." One of the men said, inclining his head towards the figure that sat huddled away from the rest of the men, away from the fires. "Anybody know that guy? Never seen him before today."

"Yeah, he came yesterday." Said one of the other men. "Doesn't talk to anyone, though. Pretty sure he's mute, or something."

"Has he eaten yet?" The first man asked, looking back toward the figure. The stranger was partly hidden in the shadows, back turned, head lowered against the frigid wind that kept blowing through the camp.

"Not that I've seen him." Remarked one of the other men gruffly. The men all glanced at the supply of food they'd gathered today: canned beans and soup, some they'd bought with their meager earnings, some coming from the local food bank.

The first man bit his lip, considering. One of the other men nodded to him. "Go ahead, Luke. We have enough to go around today."

Luke nodded. Scooping up a can of beans and a plastic spoon, he left the fire and began approaching the man. As he got closer he saw that the man was wearing a thin ripped denim jacket, not nearly appropriate for the weather, and a ragged baseball cap that sat next to him on the hard ground. His head was bent so his shaggy, greasy hair could partly cover his face. He looked about as weary and beat up as the rest of them, if not more, because it didn't look like he had any money for a new coat or food like the rest of then were able to scrape together.

Luke stopped a few feet from the man. "Hey, buddy." He said softly.

The man turned quickly to face him, and Luke could clearly see his face. He had a few days worth of stubble growth, and hollow cheeks that suggested he hadn't had a good meal in a long time. His eyes were startlingly blue, but red and bloodshot. But there was more to it, a frightened, haunted quality to the man's eyes that told Luke this guy had been through hell and back.

Luke swallowed. This life was hard. Nobody chose it by choice. But it looked like this guy had been through more hardship than most.

Hoping to calm him down, Luke crouched so he was eye-level with the man. He noticed he was wearing a glove on his left hand. Why the left? Luke pushed the thought away.

Luke held out the can so the man could see it. "Buddy, you should eat while it's here. Might not be enough to go around tomorrow. You look like you could use it."

The man's expression changed from fear and wariness to surprise. He stared at the can of beans and swallowed hard, longing in his eyes, but he said nothing.

A bit unsure of what to do next, Luke carefully set the can down next to the man. "Well, its here if you want it." He remarked, wondering briefly if what the guy by the fire said about the stranger being mute was true.

He was about to turn back to the fire when he saw the man scoop up the can so fast it looked like he was afraid it would get away. Before Luke knew it the man had pried open the lid and was shoveling beans into his mouth with all the ferocity of a starved animal.

The man paused, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked up at Luke, wariness still prominent in his eyes, but underneath that a glimmer of gratitude.

"Th-thank you." The man's voice was cracked and hoarse, like he hadn't used in weeks.

Luke nodded in surprise. "No problem." Another frigid breeze whipped around them, and the man shivered, curling deeper into his ragged jacket.

"You sure you don't want to come by the fire? Much warmer over there." Luke offered, knowing how cold in could get on nights like this when you're out in the open with no fire.

The man looked nervously over to the men huddled by the fire, then shook his head. "I'm used to it." He croaked in his unused voice.

Something about that pulled at Luke's heartstrings, but he just shrugged. "Suit yourself. Well, take care then." He nodded to the man, who watched him head back to the comfort of the fire.

Later that night as Luke lay dozing with the other men by the fire he heard and felt a figure approach. He barely reacted as he felt the man lie down next to him, closer to the fire. He opened his eyes slightly and saw the man curled in on himself to conserve body heat, still shivering.

Carefully Luke grabbed a blanket and slid it over to the man, hoping not to startle him. The blanket sat there for a moment, and then carefully the other man picked it up and wrapped it around himself. Before Luke drifted back off he saw the man tightly wrapped in the blanket, shaggy hair falling into his face and gloved hand peeking out of the blanket.

The next morning the man was gone. The blanket was neatly placed beside the trashcan, but the man had vanished. Luke was glad to have helped the man. People like them helped each other out. As he got ready for another day of looking for work, he pondered who the man was and where he was headed. He shook his head and pushed the thoughts out of his mind. It wasn't his business the man's past. But considering the haunted look in his eyes, it must've been pretty goddamn awful.


End file.
